The Pauper's Prince
by Janigrl
Summary: In which Izaya is richer than he has any right to be until his father dies and leaves everything to his illegitimate daughters, leaving Izaya broke. Shizuo is a poor guy taking care of his younger brother and just happens to stumble upon a very in-need Izaya.../ AU
1. Out

You are the shit. No really, you're enjoying the good life. Life has been kind to you, having been born into exceptional circumstance. Your father is fabulously wealthy, so your childhood was nothing shy of heavily priviledged, consisting of comfort, a huge estate, nannies, staff and convenience. You've never had to so much as lift a finger to get whatever you wanted. All the books you could ever desire to read were at your disposal in your father's library, all the newest gaming systems purchased for you, 'no' a word you were not well aquainted with. You learned at a young age that rules did not apply to the rich.

Your early life was pampered, albiet exceedingly lonely as you had no siblings to speak of and your father was practically a ghost in your world. Still, you were free to do as you pleased and everything you ever wanted or needed was provided for you. It often felt like you owned the world, and with no experience to the contrary, you might as well have. Basically, you were spoiled rotten.

You left your family estate after graduating high school, not monetarily but physically, using your summer to hop around western Europe. You hit France, Italy, England, Germany, and even had a short stint in Switzerland, but that had been more of a mistake than anything. Your graduation present had come in the form of a fat bank account, and your little adventure with traveling was your first withdrawl from the impressive sum. Upon your return you attended college, because it was a good idea, private school, because you could.

You studied business and computers, because those were the industries you figured made money. It's what your father did, so you of course followed suit. Freshman and sophomore year you lived on campus to get the feel of being like all the other students, but your junior and senior year you were out of there. You moved into an expensive apartment 20 minutes off campus the summer after your sophomore year so that you wouldn't have to keep going back to your family estate when term ended. It always seemed too big and empty when you were there, and it wasn't like your father would be around regardless.

At 22, you graduated college, deciding against going on to graduate school. You were done with education, ready to just enjoy yourself. You didn't even attempt to get a job after graduation because you figured you wouldn't have to. Your bank account was healthy enough to last you a few years living reasonably without any additional income. The problem was, "reasonable" was not a word in your vocabulary. You continued living in your far too expensive apartment, because it was nice and you liked it, and when it came to providing for yourself, you splurged on gym memberships and nice restaurants more often than you ought.

You threw yourself a party for your 23rd birthday, bar hopping and buying a bunch of shit you didn't need. Honestly, at this point your funds weren't looking too hot. "Not looking too hot" being an understatement.

You are Izaya Orihara, and you're fucking broke. You aren't too concerned however, because despite your dwindling fortune, you've always known you're going to be fine. You're getting older and you know what that means for rich boys like you. Sooner or later you'll come into some kind of trust fund that your father would have set aside for you from the time you were young, and everything will be alright.

You hope the trust fund is scheduled for sooner, though, because in light of your lack of money and the cost of rent on your apartment, you've gotten behind on payments. Like, seriously behind. As in you've been given a notice demanding two months worth of missed rent in the next two weeks or vacation of the premises. You know you don't and won't have the money in the forseeable future, since you don't work and haven't heard tale of that trust fund yet. Your luck, it's probably locked until you're 25 or 30, and you can't wait that long.

You're ready to contact your father when your phone rings. You answer, and in the course of five minutes, you find out that your father is dead and that you have a meeting with his lawyer tomorrow. For a minute, you can't breathe. You knew your father wasn't well but to just abruptly be informed of his death over the phone? Seems a bit surreal. But when it comes down to it, you never knew him all that well; it wasn't like the two of you were having father-son fishing trips on the weekends. Even still, you're sad that he's gone. He was your father after all.

On the other hand, you're slightly relieved. Shitty, you know, but now that he's gone you know this means you'll be okay. Forget trust fund, you're about to come into a massive inheritance. You were always an only child, and your mother was never in the picture, so that leaves you with the estate, his assets, and his company ownership in one fell swoop. It would be overwhelming if you weren't already used to living like a king. You rest easy with the knowledge that you won't have to worry about things like rent or eviction ever again. It was pretty good timing too, since at this point you only have two days for the rent money anyway.

You wake up feeling almost giddy, subdued of course with guilt at taking joy in your own father's death but giddy nonetheless. The meeting with your father's lawyer is of course to settle the matter of your inheritance and there's a large part of you that can't wait. When 3 'o clock rolls around, you walk down to the lawyer's office, thankful it's only about ten minutes out from your apartment. You never did get around to buying your own car, but now you think that'll be the first thing you do with your new money.

Your father's lawyer, Mr. Shiki, welcomes you into his office, offering you a seat across from his desk. He mentions initially that it's "truly a shame to lose such an intelligent man", but doesn't officially offer his condolences. You've known Shiki a long time now, and you know that he isn't going to. Complimenting your father is the closest he'll get, as he believes apologising when someone dies implies fault and one should never do so. You are slightly uncomfortable however by the lack of objects in the room. You had thought that there would be at least something physical from your father's will that would be here, but all you see is papers strewn across Shiki's desk. Your attention is pulled back to him when the man starts speaking.

"Let's get down to business then shall we? Your father left a formal will as a man in his position ought to, and in it he highlights that you are to be given this," Shiki starts, his voice impersonal as he hands you what looks to be a...letter? You take it, your eyebrows furrowed as you glance down at it. "Read it, as it intones exactly what is to be done about your father's possessions." Shiki stops talking then, leans back in his chair and watches you expectantly.

You do as you're told and begin to read the letter, scratched out in what you recognise to be your father's handwriting. At the top there's a line saying "To be given to Izaya Orihara upon my demise." Colourful.

Son,

You have been raised in the comfort that my wealth has always provided for you. You have never had to stuggle for anything nor wonder when your next meal would be. Nothing was ever made difficult for you. Your entire life, you have been spoiled. As your father, the fault for this is mine. In your upbringing I allowed you to coast, free of challenges or concern. You've done as you pleased up to this point. You don't understand what it means to do hard work, nor have you known the satisfaction of overcoming adversity. Your life was served to you on a silver platter with a golden fork.

This has not been the case for all of my children. Six years after you were born, I fathered children out of wedlock. Twin girls, Mairu and Kururi. Their mother was a maid, and given their illegitimacy, they were raised largely without my support. I gave their mother enough for them to get by, but they never lived in a standard anywhere near what you are used to. I do implore you to forgive me for the diservice I did your mother in having this affair that produced these girls.

However, my point stands that their lives have consisted of struggle and hardship where yours was pampered and provided. Compared to the two of them, you are like a prince. I intend to make it up to all three of you. I know as my son you are expecting a rather large inheritance. This, Izaya, I cannot give you. You have not earned it, and cannot be allowed to continue your life spoiled as you are without knowing the meaning of work. Mairu and Kururi, they have not had the opportunities you have. So I leave my assets and my entire estate to the two of them. I've made arrangements for my company to continue to be run by an advisor of mine, and upon your 27th birthday, it will be yours. I can only hope that by that time you will have learned what it is I am trying to teach you about life. I have left you a little something to remember me by, which I hope you will keep. I know this all will undoubtedly make you livid, and for some time you will detest my memory, but know Izaya that this is all for your own good. In time I hope you can come to forgive me for this. I wish you and my daughters all the best for a bright future. Learn from this.

S. Orihara

You stare at the letter long after you finish reading it. You can't believe this. He left you...nothing? You have twin sisters? Half sisters anyway...and the little bitches were stealing your fucking money! Anger at them, the situation and at your father immediately boil in your blood. How could that bastard do this to you? You hate him, you absolutely fucking hate him.

You glance up at Shiki then, remembering you're not alone in the room before you explode. He's taken out a slim box with your name across the top, handing it to you, his arm outstretched across his desk. "This is what he refers to in his letter, what he's left you for now," Shiki explains.

You take it from him, still filled with nothing but anger for the man who was your father. You do open the little box, curious as to what he left you despite your fury. You recognise it immediately, its a necklace with a silver chain, at the base of which hangs a charmlike symbol. It's reminiscent of a cross except less defined, and with vines snaking around its form. It was your grandfather's, given to your father, who gave it to your mother until she passed, after which it hung in your father's study untouched for years. Normally this would mean a lot to you but right now all you want to do is throw it out the window. Instead, you shove it in your pocket.

"Can the will be contested?" You ask, your tone dark. If there's one thing you've learned from being brought up in this world, it's to try the sneaky option if at first you don't suceed.

"I'm afraid it's ironclad, kid." Shiki at least has the presence of mind to look like he feels bad for you, a crease in his brow and his mouth cinched in a tight line.

You stare at the letter before placing it back on Shiki's desk, breathing deeply to contain your anger. "Is that it then?" You ask, looking up at Shiki. He has you sign something or other to confirm that you did recieve what was left to you in the will and dismisses you. You turn and look back at him when you reach the door. You're upset at this whole situation and by wrongful diffusion you feel like you should be upset with Shiki for being the bearer of such bad news, but... When you look at him, it feels for all the world like he's your last connection to your family and your life as a (now ex) rich boy. You give him a sad smile. "Thanks," You say as you leave.

"Take care of yourself," is what he replies with to your retreating back. It's the most sentimental thing you've ever heard him say in the past 20 years. You don't look back as you exit, knowing you probably won't see him again.

As you walk out of the building, you're left with a sense of emptiness. You're at a loss for what to do next. There's no one to take care of you now; no family and no friends. You're broke as all hell with no job and no car, and by tomorrow, no house. With every step you take toward your apartment, your anger dissapates into fear and panicked confusion.

You reach your apartment and step inside, looking around for some kind of lifeline. You rack your brain for someone you can call, some kind of help you can get, but come up blank. Your apartment is mostly empty at this point since you'd been selling your shit to get some extra cash for awhile now. On the brightside there's nothing to move out once you're evicted tomorrow. You run your hand through your inky black hair frantically and try to control your breathing as you begin to pace back and forth.

You have no experience. You have no skills. You don't know anyone. After tonight you're not even going to have a place to live. You have that college degree but you know it's no guarantee of getting a job. You're not prepared, hell, you're not even sure how you'd go about that. You're also shit at calming yourself down. The tears are running down your cheeks hot and fast before you even notice you're crying. You raise a hand to your face to scratch your cheek where the tears touch you and your hand comes away wet. Somehow that makes it all the worse, opening the floodgates as you have your very first, honest to god breakdown. You can feel the box still in your coat pocket, and you reach in and fling it across the room. It bounces off the wall with a thud and makes your tears fall faster.

You stagger into your bedroom, collapsing onto the mattress which now just lays directly on the floor, and let the sorrow and self-pity wash over you. You sob and shake, whining noises making their way out of your mouth. You whimper and cry like that until at some point you fall asleep, too tired and emotionally drained to do anything else.

When you wake, it's to a slight headache, the taste of cotton in your mouth, and banging on your door. You stumble to your feet, trying to get yourself oriented before answering it. The banging continues, now accompanied by shouts to open the door. You do open it, to the lovely sight of your landlord's frowning face. He asks about the money, and when you tell him you don't have it, that's it. He tells you that you have to get out and demands your keys. You relinquish them and are given an hour to collect what few things you have left and get the hell out.

You consider taking your mattress, it's really the only thing in here, but you have nowhere to put it so you trash the locate the box with your necklace in it on the floor from where you threw it yesterday and all your bad feelings threaten to come rushing back but you stifle them down. You open the box and take out the necklace, staring at it for a full minute before deciding to put it on. It is officially the only thing you own. If anything, it'll probably fetch a price if you need to pawn it later.

You take one last look around before leaving, taking a deep breath and putting on a mask of indifference as you walk out. You're not quite sure what time it is, as you don't have a watch and if you did you'd have sold it by now, but judging from the position of the sun when you get outside, you guess you slept until about early afternoon or so. You rummage in your back pocket for your wallet. You've only got $30 left, so you figure you'd better make it count. Or not.

You head to your favourite sushi place and order fatty tuna, cracking a joke in your head about the last supper. You snort, but there's no real amusement in it. Your food comes and you savour it, yet still it's gone too quickly. You feel cheap for not leaving a tip as you normally would but circumstances are dire.

You're still not sure what time it is but your body tells you it's time for a nap, so you find yourself a park bench and try to get comfortable, which is impossible, and catch some much needed zzs. You curl in on yourself, hoping beyond hope no one will rob you.

Rough concrete is what eventually wakes you as you roll off the bench in your sleep. It's considerably darker now, and fuck all you're getting a drink. You walk down to the nearest bar and blow the last of your money entirely on alcohol, consuming way more cheap shit than a lightweight like yourself ever should have. The blond guy serving you drinks seems to get more and more concerned every time you take a shot, but you don't give a shit. You're fucking homeless so if this guy wants to judge you he can go right ahead. The bar does actually have a clock, so you know it's two am when you leave, drunk off your ass. The bartender asks if you're alright as you stuggle to leave but you don't deign to respond.

You stagger outside, the autumn wind seeming somehow much colder than it's ever felt before. You have no idea where to go, your thoughts hazy and your steps shaky. You don't think you've made it that far away from the bar when you run into a streetlamp, hitting yourself in the face and passing out on the cold, hard, ground. As the world fades to black around you, you manage to wonder through your muddled thoughts what your father would say if he could see you now. See what he did to you. What you did to yourself.


	2. Found

You wake up with rays of sunlight shining right at your face. It's warm and bright and really fucking with your head. You've got a hangover to rival the one you had after the night when you'd first started drinking, and that one was pretty damn bad. You feel as if a tractor rolled over your head after someone had punched you in the face. You groan as you blink your eyes open and roll to the side to escape the sun. It's aggravating your head and you're content to just lay here forever until it dawns on you that you don't have a window that faces your bed. In fact this isn't your bed at all.

You are in fact in a bed, but it's pretty clear this isn't your house. You glance down at yourself. You're still wearing the clothes you had on yesterday minus your jacket, and shit you really ought to have grabbed some stuff to wear before you left your apartment. Patting your pockets reveals you haven't in fact been robbed; both your wallet and your phone tucked safely inside. You can feel the cold chain of your father's necklace resting on your collarbone.

You try sitting up but whatever movement you made was soon aborted as your head decides it doesn't like it. You ease yourself up slowly, scooting into a sitting position and glancing around the room. It's a little messy, clothes thrown over the various surfaces in the bedroom. There's a chair and desk in the corner, a plain closet and a bedside table. It's quaint, although much smaller than anything you're accustomed to. Not that you're in a position to complain.

Before you have a chance to pass anymore judgements on the room, a blond man comes in the doorway, looking at you with a glass of water in one hand and a few pills in the other. Bless his soul. You...recognise him after a beat, this is the same guy who was serving drinks at the bar you were at last night. The guy who asked if you were alright. And now it appears you're in his house. In his bed no less. Well shit.

You don't think anything happened but you don't remember jack after hitting that pole. You touch your forehead in the spot where it hit you, hoping there isn't a red spot or something equally mortifying. The man stops when he nears the bed, extending his offerings to you. Up close, you get a better look at him and frankly speaking, he's goddamn gorgeous. You doubt he's a natural blond, but it suits him. He's tall and lean, and shit if he doesn't seem like he hits the gym every now and again. He's dressed in a grey t-shirt and black cargo pants with a ton of pockets. You notice out of the corner of your eye that he isn't wearing shoes and his socks have a hole in them.

"Here, take these. They'll help with the ah," He points at his head to indicate your hangover, bringing the pills and water closer to your face. His voice washes over you like honey, low and smooth, and while you're apprehensive about taking drugs from some guy you don't know, you're inclined to trust this man. Plus, your head really fucking hurts and you'd very much like that to stop.

"I'm Shizuo. Shizuo Heiwajima," He tells you as you swallow down the medicine. You blink twice. It doesn't kick in immediately of course, but there's that relief that comes from knowing you took pain pills and they'll do something eventually. You glance back up at his face. His name suits him, you think.

"Izaya," You respond. You don't give your last name as you're not really comfortable enough to just drop your full name. On top of that, you're kinda pissed at your family right now so fuck them. Who needs to be an Orihara anyway. If he notices the lack, he doesn't call you out on it.

You move to get up and out of the bed, swinging your legs to the side but pausing as you move a might bit too fast. Shizuo jerks in response, putting his hands out as if to stop you, then thinking better of it and letting them drop to his sides. You're not really sure what you're doing, but you figure it's time you stopped imposing on this man.

"Thanks. For the pills," you say. "Do you have my jacket?"

"Oh yeah," Shizuo grunts as he walks to his closet and produces the jacket you were wearing last night, handing it to you. You nod at him, walking with your head down out of the room, finding the front door of the small house without any trouble. You discover your shoes at the door and slip them on, leaving without another word.

You have no idea what part of town this is, or how close it was to the bar you'd been at last night, but the neighbourhood seems pretty shady so you start walking at a brisk pace. Your head is clearing up and you're glad of that as you're forced to stare into the sunlight every time you raise your head. You don't stop walking until you get to a part of town you recognise, and the first thing you see is a convenience store. You consider picking something up until you remember you've got no money. The thought really bums you out and you take a moment to curse your dead father with all your heart. Fuck him. As far as you were concerned, he did this to you and everything that happened from here on out was his fault. You started walking again with a renewed vigour.

It's amazing actually how much energy a fueled anger can give you, because you wind up three miles from the convenience store at a little park by the time you're finished fuming. You sit down rather indignantly, still unwilling to accept any part of what has become your life. To be honest, you're still waiting for someone to jump out and say this is all a joke and apologise for giving you such a runaround. It doesn't happen though, and some part of you knows it won't, but denial is more than a river in Egypt.

You assume it's around noon when your stomach starts to wonder why you haven't eaten since yesterday, but of course your wallet has no answer to give it. It does give you a good idea of how to kill time however, as you get up and walk all the way to the nearest grocery store. It's almost like a game as you go through the food sections hunting for free samples. You find a few, and once you even manage to snag more than one sample when the vendor wasn't looking, and its enough to assuage your stomach for the time being. You're not used to being homeless and broke, but right now it kind of feels like being free; like you're playing some kind of game and can stop at any time.

You mess around some more in the store, acting like a true patron who could buy something when really you're waiting for a shift change so you can swing around for more samples. When you tire of that, you leave, wondering what it is people do to keep themselves occupied. You suppose most of them must work, but that's never been your thing so you walk around the city to see what there is to see. The adrenaline has yet to wear off, so you truly do feel as if this is a game, not quite real. You fall back on one of your favourite hobbies; people watching.

There are children annoying their mothers in the park, and across the street, young, college age kids smoking and laughing. Kids never really were your thing, and you think bitterly of the girls you now know to be your sisters. It adds to your distaste for children. You watch as they run around screaming with one another and young looking women coo at them and chat with other mothers. You look on for a moment longer, but these families are much too happy and it's starting to bum you out. You never really did this as a kid, going to the park, you just sat around in your big empty house.

You walk until your feet hurt, popping into a fast food restaurant as the sky darkens. You take a table in the back and watch people come in and out, some sitting, some not. Most are accompanied by a group or at least another person, a few solitary. It's amusing to you what kinds of people come in here; mostly suits that seem rushed, skinny young girls and fat middle aged men. There's of course the occasional family, and you see a couple or two, but generally it's the sort of crowd you expect.

You manage to overhear a conversation or two, some stupid girl wondering why her classmate doesn't lover her and a man far too worked up over a virtual game he looks way too old for. You're snickering to yourself by the time you decide you've stayed too suspiciously long and exit the restaurant. Your stomach doesn't seem to like the fact that you left without buying any of those things your nose was smelling in the air, but it isn't like you've got too much of a choice. You're itching to go back to the bar to see if someone will buy you a drink, but decide against it. You're more concerned about where you'll be sleeping tonight.

Heading back to the park, you scout out an ideal spot to camp out but you're not very good at it. You end up deciding the tube slide is the best bet, so you curl up just inside, hoping you wont fall out in the course of the night.

* * *

"Mommy, mommy look! There's a man in the slide!"

"What are you talking about sweetie?"

"Look! Look! There he is! He's right inside!"

You blink your heavy eyelids, rousing at the sound of the shrill voice. The next thing you're aware of is a little hand poking you in the leg.

"Mister, why are you stuffed up in there?" she asks you, her eyes wide. You don't have a chance to answer though, because soon enough her mother is dragging her away, her face horrified. She probably thinks you're some kind of pedophile. Fucking fantastic.

You crawl out of the slide, or, more accurately, slide out, landing in an unceremonious heap on the ground. You get up, brushing wood chips off your ass and hightailing it out of there before someone calls the cops. You stretch as you walk, your back in pain from the uncomfortable sleeping position. This day goes much like the last, with you walking and people watching when you weren't swiping samples from the store. You considered yourself rather resourceful, getting away with not buying anything two days in a row.

That night you do go to the bar, because you can't stand the dryness in your throat anymore. You sit at a stool and wait, asking the bartender for just a glass of water. He gets it for you, and you notice Shizuo back behind the counter as well. You consider saying hello but don't, because you don't even know if he'd want to talk to the drunk guy who slept in his bed. A few guys and even one gutsy chick do offer to buy you drinks, to which you accept each time, because you're not about to reject free shit. You're beyond tipsy when you stumble outside, crashing this time behind the bar.

It's not your smartest decision; when you wake up your jacket is gone. You still have your empty wallet, tucked in your pants, but you really liked that fur trim coat and now its just gone without a trace. To make bad matters worse, the alley you're laying in kind of smells like piss. You get up, disgusted, feeling dirty and hungry as fuck. You try hitting the store for samples today, but none of the vendors seem to be there handing out free food. It wasn't great living on free samples, but now you have nothing, and your stomach fucking hurts. It's making noises at you while you walk around, and suddenly nothing feels like a game anymore.

You have limits. You do. But you're not used to actually feeling like you're starving and it not being an exaggeration. It makes you avoid any place that sells food the entire fucking day. By the fourth day however, you're done. You're completely fucking done and by 5:30 in the evening, you're rifling through the garbage cans behind a fast food place. Half eaten and partially finished sodas are your best friend.

You're startled when you hear someone behind you and you turn you head to see Shizuo peering at you from across the street. He's squinting and when he sees you he looks confused, and you can't handle it so you abandon your can, not even flinching when you hear it loudly fall over behind you as you walk away from the scene as fast as you can. You feel filthy and pissed and ashamed and you just don't want people to look at you right now.

The fifth day you feel so filthy that you pop into a gas station and use the bathroom, only so you can strip off your shirt and splash water on your face and rub it under your arms and down your chest, aided by the crappy bathroom soap. You rinse off the same way and you're glad the mirror is so blurry because you're sure that if you could see yourself right now you'd break down.

You don't really want to go back to the bar, because you know Shizuo works there and he literally saw you fucking dig through the trash and eat it, but you need water and you need to be taken out of your thoughts, so you go. You let as many strangers buy you drinks as offer, and you swear you can feel Shizuo frowning at you. You pretend not to notice when he asks if you're okay.

It becomes a routine almost, digging through the trash during the day and drinking yourself silly at night, but it isn't until the eighth day that you drink any kind of dangerous amount. By then you're sick of your nasty clothes and your filthy new habits and you're sick of yourself and honestly do not even want to see your own face anymore. You purposely flirt with people and end up with more drinks than ever before. You don't leave until this bar is closing up and you're just as drunk as the first day, hardly capable of even stumbling out the door. You take maybe six shaky steps, slow, unstable steps, before a strong hand wraps around your arm. "Come with me."

You allow this presence to lead you, not even lucid enough to deduce that it might not be a good idea, but when you look beside you, in the dark the man looks...you really just think yellow? But that reminds you of Shizuo so you trust it's him and stumble along. When the two of you get inside, you're lead into the bathroom where you proceed to retch into the toilet multiple times. You do manage to wipe your mouth before everything just kind of blinks out.

When you wake the next day, you're in Shizuo's bed again. You can tell because you recognise the room. You yawn, wincing at the familiar feeling of a bad hangover as you sit up. You feel like nothing but a fuck up right now honestly. It's made worse by the humbling surge of emotion that washes over you when Shizuo walks in with water and pills much like he did before.

"This is getting to be a regular thing eh?" He jokes half-halfheartedly as he hands the items to you. You try to smile back but you really just feel like shit so you stop trying. His smile falls.

"Do you uh...do you have somewhere to be?" He asks, frowning now. He seems more contemplative than anything, and you wonder if you said anything to him last night before you passed out. He's so close to you. You've seen him a few times now, but this time you really look at him. His eyes are what strike you, odd in that they're such a light brown that they're almost amber, the colour of honey and tree sap. Then again, you're one to talk, your eyes so brown they border on red.

You could lie, and for a minute you feel like you should, but things are so messed up right now that you find yourself telling him the truth. "Nope," You say, eyes dropping from his face as you rub a finger into the sore muscles on the back of your neck.

"Got any place to stay?"

Again you want to lie to him, but his expression is so sincere in its concern. He seems like he's an honest guy and maybe its rubbing off on you too. Regardless, you really don't, living on the street is fucking killing you at this point. The lack of control you have over the world scares the shit out of you. "Another nope," You tell him, your voice nonchalant like this is something you do all the time. Like you're some kind of migrant or traveler.

He's silent then, just looking at your face. It's kind of unnerving actually, how he just...stares. You hold his gaze though, because you don't want him to think you're some kind of shy pansy. You wonder to yourself what he's doing. Judging your character? Trying to sum up who you are just by staring really hard? You are after all a perfect stranger to him, who he apparently let into his house on two separate occasions. You can't tell much from trying to read his expression, which surprises you because you're usually pretty good at that.

"Do you want some tea?" Is what he finally ends up saying, so you guess you passed his little test. You nod, standing and following him out of the room. Unlike last time you were here, you look around now. The rest of the house is much like the room you came out of; small and mostly bare. It's a little drafty actually now that you're paying attention, and you wish you still had your jacket.

There aren't too many rooms really, as soon as you exit the bedroom you see a bathroom across the hall and then the two of you walk immediately into a living room kind of thing. Its got two couches that look a little worse for wear, a small, old looking television straight out of the 90s, and the second half of the room bleeds into the kitchen. It's all like one large room. There's an island that separates the kitchen part from the living room, and behind it a table. There's a counter against the walls with basic kitchen stuff, a fridge, a microwave, some cabinets, nothing fancy. Shizuo walks into the kitchen to prepare the tea, grabbing a bag from inside a cupboard. You hang back, leaning on the other side of the island.

"Green tea okay?" He asks, looking at you. You nod, and can't help but notice how he just sticks a mug with water in it into the microwave instead of trying to boil it. When the water is hot, he drops the tea bag in and hands it over to you to steep at your discretion.

"Thanks," You say, prodding the bag in the mug of water. He stands on the side of the island inside the kitchen and looks at you as you wait on your tea. Nothing is said for the longest time and you start to wonder if starting at people is just something he does. Eventually, you chance a sip of your tea, but end up burning your tongue as it hits your mouth. You frown for a fraction of a second before schooling your face back to a neutral expression.

"Well. Izaya," He starts, pausing to clear his throat. "You're not a serial killer are you?"

The question catches you off guard and you almost choke on a sip of tea. "...What? No, of course not," You answer indignantly between coughs.

He waits until you're finished choking to continue. "Do you sell drugs?"

"Listen, man, if you're looking to buy something illegal you've got the wrong guy, I don't do that shit and-"

"No, I'm not I just wanted to know. I'll take your word for it," He interrupts, throwing you off again with his smile. It seems like this is all some kind of joke, but at the same time his smile strikes you as earnest. "Look, if you need somewhere to stay, there's not too much space but you can crash with us. Me and my brother. 'Til you can get back on your feet y'know."

You don't say anything, watching his face as he makes his offer. On the one hand, the last thing you want to do is inconvenience this guy and live with a complete stranger. This whole situation makes you supremely uncomfortable. He doesn't even know you! And from the look of his house, he doesn't even have much to give. Your mistrusting nature tells you to turn him down, but you do think about the offer for a second. Something is better than nothing and nothing is what you have. Absolutely nothing. So realistically you're not really in a place to turn him down...but it still makes you uneasy.

"...Really?" You press, not quite believing your luck.

"I mean you don't have to, I just don't wanna let you go back out on the street if you've got no place to live," He explains, the frown back on his face.

Again you wonder if you said anything to him while you were drunk, but decide to leave that under the rug. This really does seem like your best shot, weird as it may be. And if it doesn't work, you can always leave after all. "If it's fine with you, that'd be great, thanks," You say with a nod.

Shizuo seems to glow with your acceptance. He smiles and gives you a nod in return. "Yeah, yeah, it's totally fine. I gotta go to work soon, but my brother's over there," he gestures at a spot in the living room where you notice there's actually a bed with a person laying in it. "I'll be back around 6, we can talk more about this then. Cool?"

You raise an eyebrow. This was a strange turn of events for sure. But you kind of like this guy. "Yeah, sure."

"Great," He says, walking into the living room to wake up his brother. He murmurs something to him for a second before the guy sits up. He looks young, younger than you anyway, but not by much. You guess he's around 19 or 20 from his face. "Kasuka, this is Izaya," Shizuo introduces. "Izaya, this is my little brother, Kasuka."

You take a step closer and raise a hand in a half wave. God, this was awkward. "Hey," you offer. He doesn't say anything back, but he nods at you and turns to look at his brother.

"Shit, yeah so I gotta go get ready, I'll see you both tonight then," Shizuo says as he goes back into his bedroom, leaving you with his brother. Kasuka seems to share Shizuo's tendency to stare and it just makes you that much more uncomfortable. You don't let it show however, as you take a seat on one of the couches. It's not especially soft; the couch seems thin in the way they tend to get when they're old. You can practically feel the springs. You wonder what kind of people these brothers are. You glance up as Shizuo comes out, waving goodbye at his brother and you suppose you as well, before leaving.

Kasuka still says nothing to you, but he's not looking right at you anymore. You take in more of this little house; the small cracks in some of the walls, the chipping paint job, Kasuka's bed on the floor in the corner of the living room. If there was any doubt before, you're pretty sure now. These guys were poor as hell. You start to feel bad for them until you recall the horrible week you've had and the fact that you're just as broke as they are if not more so. That's a depressing thought.

Glancing at Kasuka, you can see how he and Shizuo would be related. They don't look just like each other, but there's definitely a similarity. Kasuka's hair is a chocolate brown, and you assume that must be Shizuo's natural colour too. His eyes are sleepy looking, the same colour as his hair. He hasn't said a word since you got here and you wonder about that but let it go since this is where he lives. He can be a mute in his own house if that's what he wants.

You pull your legs up onto the couch, stretching out sideways. The funny thing is, thinking back to when you had a place to live, you can't seem to recall what you did with your time all day. You must have done something this past year, and it wasn't college, but for the life of you you're not sure what. In your childhood you did a lot of reading, because that's what you had most of around your house, books. You wonder to yourself if Shizuo's got any books around here as you doze off.

The feel of something poking you in the shoulder is what wakes you up, blinking your eyes to find out what's happening. Kasuka is standing in front of you and he's got a plate of what looks like holy fuck is that macaroni you haven't had that shit in years. You take it from him with a small smile and a nod of thanks, and he just looks at you with his blank expression. This time it's not quite as uncomfortable. You swing your legs back around and sit up normally, leaving Kasuka room to sit next to you. You shovel the food down in silence, but it's not so bad.

"Got cable?" You ask him when you're finished with your food. He takes your plate and places it in the sink, coming back to where you're sitting and silently handing you the remote. You flick on the t.v, scrolling through channels of nothing good. You end up on some nature shit; some kind of documentary on walruses. Walruses are pretty cool so you stay on that channel, relaxing back against the couch once more. Kasuka stays there next to you, still not talking but you think he's just giving you company.

The two of you sit there, you nodding on and off, until Shizuo gets back. You really regret not having a watch, because you have no idea whether or not its six, but he's here regardless. "Kasuka? I'm back," He calls at the door, taking his shoes off inside. The curious thing is, he's wearing a bartender's uniform. You can't imagine he works there during the day too. Your confusion must show, because when he comes over to where you and Kasuka are sitting he explains himself. "I uh, I work in security I just...have a lot of these," he tells you and you decide to let it go. You're not even sure what he means by that. There's a plastic bag in his hand that rustles when he moves to sit on the couch adjacent to you. "I brought us back some food, though," he says, pulling out styrofoam boxes that look suspiciously like Chinese take out. Hell yes.

The three of you dig in right there on the couch since Shizuo doesn't appear to have a dining room. Or all that many tables. You can tell the food is just a cheap knock off of real Chinese but anything would taste good to you right now. You're halfway through an egg roll when Kasuka excuses himself to go to the bathroom. He doesn't say as much, but he throws his mess away and silently heads in that direction. Shizuo takes that as his cue to talk to you. "So...what's your story?" He asks, eyebrow raised.

You don't know him well, nor are you sure how much you can trust him, so you neglect to spill your whole life story. It's not like he'd want to hear that anyway. You sum it all up with, "I was recently evicted, and I'm not making any money right now." He nods, like he understands. God, you feel like such a bum right now.

"That's rough, I know how that is," he looks like he really does, but of course there's no way he could really understand your situation. He has no idea who you are, he doesn't know where you come from. It almost makes you want to laugh, how you ended up. "Look, it's really not a problem for you to stay with us," he says, his voice soft. "My place is your place and all that." He laughs. You really like hearing him laugh.

"...Thanks," you respond with a small smile, looking him in the eye so he knows you really do mean it. He doesn't exactly live in a mansion but you honestly don't know what you'd do without this chance. Living on the streets, that's not your thing. You can hardly believe this is your life and not just some fucked up nightmare.

"It's just...well we only have one bedroom, and it would be Kasuka's but he refused to sleep there, insisting I take the bed so I'm in there and he's out here, but while you're with us you can sleep on the bed. I'll take the floor," he explains.

You are not about to kick this man out of his bed. As much as it would have disgusted you to have to sleep on the floor your limits have really worn down at this point. You literally slept in an alley way that smelled of piss. "Oh hell no. I'll sleep on the floor."

"No, I insist, it's not very comfortable. Take the bed, it's no problem."

"I'm sleeping on the floor, seriously. I won't take your bed," You intone.

He frowns, but you give him your best unrelenting glare and he seems to cave. "...Fine. I've got a sleeping bag and we'll put a bunch of pillows down on the floor in the bedroom, unless you wanted to be out here then I could-"

"No, no in there is fine," you cut him off, a little too quickly to play down. What can you say? Miss an opportunity to sleep in the same room as someone that attractive? No thanks.

"Alright then, that'll work," Shizuo says, nodding as he cleans up the trash from dinner and heads into the bedroom. You consider following him but think better of it. Instead, you sit on the couch and look down at your hands.

You still can't believe your luck. You wonder if this is a pretext to some kind of malicious plot for murder or something, but think better of it. You doubt there's an evil bone in Shizuo's body. Either way, you don't have all that many options. You're not sure what you would've done if you had to continue living on the streets. It's not an experience you're keen on repeating. Not that you ever pictured yourself as a freeloader, but them's the breaks.

You're startled as Shizuo calls your name for what seems not the first time to catch your attention. "Come over here," he tells you, standing in the doorway of his bedroom. You walk over to him and peer inside. He's laid out a set-up similar to Kasuka's next to the bed, with a ton of pillows and blankets, some of which you suspect are from his own bed."I gotta get to the bar but make yourself at home. You're free to use the shower or get something from the fridge, whatever you want. I won't be back until 3 or so," he explains, still dressed in the uniform from before, as he turns and walks to the door. "Kasuka! I'm going," he calls out as he puts his shoes on and leaves the two of you alone again.

You consider what he said, cursing yourself for not having any other clothes than the ones on your back. You've been wearing these for awhile now, and no doubt you stink from rifling through garbage cans for a week, without bathing, and a shower sounds so good right now. On the other hand, you're hardly comfortable using someone else's shower, and though you know you'll have to get over that, it seems pointless with nothing to change into afterward. Why put dirty clothes on a clean body? You resignedly accept that you won't get to shower tonight and hope Shizuo and Kasuka don't think you stink too much. You don't think they'd say anything if they did; Shizuo's too nice and you actually haven't heard Kasuka say anything at all yet.

You do look through the fridge, though, because you're feeling pretty dehydrated. There's not much to find as it happens; they have a jug of water but the contents of the fridge are sparse and barren. Not too much food, or ingredients, or really anything. There's what looks to be leftovers of some kind but you're not too sure of what. You pour yourself a glass of water, because you've always been a snob about drinking from the tap (though you admit half drinken soda felt much grosser) and gulp in down in seconds, immediately pouring another. You didn't realise exactly how thirsty you were until you're on your fourth cup, where it starts to slow down.

You put the jug away and place the cup in the sink, feeling bloated now. At some point Kasuka had emerged from wherever and was now reading something on the couch. He was quiet as a mouse you guess because you didn't even hear him come out. You use the opportunity to use the bathroom. It, like the rest of the house, is small. It's made up of just a counter with a mirror, a toilet, and a shower/bathtub mix. You fondly remember the hot tub you used to have in your old apartment as you wash your hands. You really cannot wait to take a fucking shower, briefly flashing back to your desperate "truck stop wash" of not three days ago. Which was disgusting. Someone like you was not made for the streets.

You wander across the hall into Shizuo's bedroom, taking another look around. He's got some books piled on the floor in the corner you notice, and you wonder whether they're his or Kasuka's. You're not really sure if you'd peg Shizuo as the "learned" type. The thought strikes you as rude so you shake it off. You've been sleeping on and off all day but somehow you still feel lethargic, so you plop down to test the makeshift bed. It's actually not half bad in the comfort department; you've never really needed a sleeping bag before but you find you like it and it's texture. You stretch out, expecting another little nap, but after a few moments you're out like a light.

* * *

It's dark, but you're aware of when Shizuo gets home. He makes very little noise coming in, trying not to wake anyone no doubt. He closes the bedroom door softly, and you hear what sounds like clothes hitting the floor before the bed squeaks under his weight. You're tempted to look over at him, but instead you pretend to be asleep and let him just do his thing. He stops moving after awhile, but you're still hyper aware of his presence. It takes awhile for you to settle back down and think about sleeping. When you do, you're struck with the notion that your life has just gotten a lot more interesting.


	3. Fit

Living with Shizuo is a whole new kind of game. You fall into a new routine forged around his routine. He effortlessly makes you feel like a fucking puppy. It's subconscious, really, the way you follow him around, like he's some kind of enigma. You try your best to make sure that when he's awake, you're awake. When he's home, you're within 5 feet. You really are like a puppy, only less eager. You may be nosing around him a bit, but you do not act like a fool. You don't. Seriously. So not your style.

The shower situation is eventually resolved, as Shizuo approaches you the day after you start staying with the Heiwajimas. You're kind of hovering outside the bathroom, looking at the shower every so often like it's some tantilising treat just out of your reach. "It's okay if you use the shower," Shizuo says as he passes you. You can hear the smile in his voice. He's making fun of you.

"Yeah, well I've only got these dirty clothes to change back into," you grumble. You're frowning now because you want - you _need_ that shower.

"Not a problem. Just go, shower," Shizuo urges, and you're so ready to be fucking clean that you don't even worry about what he's planning to do, you just go for it.

The wait was more than worth it. You've never been so happy to take a fucking shower in your life. You strip down and step in, the warm water running down your skin and through your hair, your fucking hair, god. You just stand there, wet, enjoying the spray for a solid five minutes before you actually look around for something to use to wash with. You find bar soap, shampoo and conditioner on a ledge inside the shower, and go straight to work. You do your hair first, and then your body. The awkwardness of being naked and wet in someone else's house is completely overridden by how much you need this. Oh god, you need this.

When you're done washing, you're so relaxed that you're tempted to stay inside and rub one out. You start to, but as soon as your shower hits 20 minutes the hot water immediately shuts off, raining cold on your body and effectively killing your semi. You hold back a yelp and shut off the water, stepping out onto the mat outside the tub. Folded on the toilet seat are a towel and a set of clothes, and you're a little embarrassed because you didn't notice the door opening and closing for someone to have put these here, but whoever did must have seen your silhouette. You shake it off, drying yourself with the coarse towel and dressing yourself in the clothes provided.

It's a pair of sweat pants and a white t-shirt, and they're slightly larger than the type of thing you'd usually wear, but you like body hugging shit and you're not swimming in this stuff, you're just a little short for it, so it's fine. It smells like detergent, bounce sheets and Shizuo's room, and you like that. You're a little concerned about what's going to happen when you wear these out too, but decide to worry about it later as you pick up your dirty clothes from the floor and carry them out with you.

Shizuo's stretched out in his bed when you step inside his room, your clothes in your arms. "Where do you want me to put these?" You ask, and he just points to a basket just inside the closet. It's got some other clothes in it which you take to be his, so you dump yours on top and that's that.

"They fit alright?"

"Yeah they're fine."

He looks at you, standing there in his clothes, and for a second you imagine a glint in his eyes. Either way he looks like he approves. "You can use my stuff for now, until we can get some clothes for you," he tells you, eyes flicking back up to your face. You grunt, very much okay with smelling like Shizuo for awhile.

It lasts for about a week; Shizuo giving you some clothes of his before he leaves for his first job - which you learn is a security gig with a debt collector - until his next day off. The two of you go down to a thrift store to buy new clothes for you to wear. It's a novel experience for you, as you've never been "thrifting" before. When you get there, you just kind of look at everything, going through racks of randomly placed articles of clothing to find something that isn't hideous.

You're not sure how, but you actually manage to find some jeans that make your ass look pretty great and a couple of understated, monochrome shirts that flatter your figure. Originally you'd been concerned about thrift shopping, because you're an incredibly vain person when it came to looking good and wearing used clothing sounds disgusting, but between the rush that came from finding something good and trying it on and asking Shizuo's opinion, you actually have quite a bit of fun. By the time the two of you leave, you have two bags worth of clothing and have spent less money than you'd thought possible.

The day just gets better when he takes you out to eat afterward. It gives you back a sense of normalcy that you haven't felt in awhile. Shizuo only orders fries and a milkshake, because apparently he has a pretty severe sweet tooth and an intense love of sugar. He actually dips the fries in the milkshake which you think looks gross until he makes you try one.

"It's really not that bad," Shizuo insists, popping another one to prove his point.

"People say the same of chocolate covered ants but I won't be eating those either," you mutter back.

"Oh don't be dramatic. This is nothing like chocolate covered ants. Just eat one," he demands, waving a fry in your face.

"Put that away!"

"Eat it."

"Hell no."

"Eat it."

"No."

"Eat. It."

"I said no, Shizuo."

"Literally just try one. Just one. Please?" Puppy dog eyes on this man should be illegal.

"...Fine," you concede, allowing him to dip a fry into his milkshake and hold it out to you. You don't attempt to eat it out of his hand because that could get weird, so you just grab it and eat it. It's...actually not bad. You're not sure you'd vouch that it's the 'perfect combination of salty and sweet' but you don't exactly want to kill yourself after consuming it so that's a plus. "Not bad," you tell Shizuo, who looks expectant of your response.

"It's great."

"Sweets aren't really my thing," you admit.

"No shit? I love sweets."

"Yeah, I noticed."

He just laughs and goes back to eating his fries and finishing off his shake when there aren't any more fries to dip. You crack a smile for a split second, musing to yourself that this is probably the longest amount of time you've spent in the company of someone else, talking to them, eating with them, without the promise of sex after. You're not quite sure you're happy about that last bit, but it's good to spend some time with someone else. You're used to simply observing people and judging their behaviour, at the end of the day returning to your expensive, empty home. Now all of a sudden you're...included. You're a part of things. A part of something aside from manipulating people to sell you something or lower their prices. It's a different feeling, but it's good.

The two of you go back to Shizuo's house, and he moves some stuff around enough to give you a small space in his tiny closet. Your new clothes hang beside his on the rack. The very next day he takes you with him to the laundry mat. This also was a novel experience. You've never had to wash your clothes or even think about washing your clothes. At your father's estate there were staff that did it for you, and your apartment building's maid took care of it for you, even going so far as to hang them up once they'd been washed. It's not until you step inside the laundry mat that you realise you're going to have to wash your own shit now, and you're not even sure how.

It's not as if you're completely clueless; you know it has something to do with detergent and colours vs whites and dryer sheets, but so much can go wrong when washing clothes. How would you know warm wash from cold? What if something shrinks? How much detergent are you even supposed to put in? Luckily for you, Shizuo only brought you along for the purpose of showing you how to do it. You let it slip to him after you got your new clothes that you'd never actually washed your own clothes before. He gave you a weird look, as if he wasn't sure how anyone could _not_ know something like that, but probably assumed your parents had just done it for you for a long time.

The laundry mat is a slightly intimidating place in and of itself; lines of washing machines and dryers throughout a moderately sized building, populated with lots of dirty looking people with large bags of even dirtier clothes. Shizuo doesn't seem to mind at all, coming equipped with the laundry the three of you had accumulated and his own bottle of detergent. He even had a box of bounce sheets. You watch him carefully as he claims two machines and separates the whites from the colours, putting them in the respective machines. He pours the detergent into its own cap, stopping at a line he points out to you and pouring it into a compartment on top of the machine. He explains to you when it's necessary to use bleach nd when you wouldn't. As he starts both loads of clothes, he leans against the machines.

"Now you gotta watch out with the laundry mat. Always be there when your clothes stop, because if you're not around and the place is packed then someone's gonna just dump your shit on the ground and put their own clothes in. Pisses me off, but it'll happen if you're not careful," Shizuo tells you, his mouth twitching in agitation.

You nod, wondering to yourself what kind of neighbourhood forces you to guard your clothes when they come out of the washer.

"Once, someone stole some of my socks after they dumped my clothes. I only had one black sock when I got home that day," He says with a dry laugh. "I'll be back, I need a smoke." He claps you on the shoulder as he walks out. As much as you would love to see what he looks like when he smokes, you take this clothes watching thing very seriously. You wouldn't want to get your clothes dumped by some brat on your first time out. Every so often, you steal glances out the window to watch Shizuo take long drags on his cigarette. You'd found out about his being a smoker by chance when you stepped out to get some air and found him smoking outside. It's not something you or Kasuka typically see as he tends to do it when he's outside between jobs or walking home.

When the clothes finally stop spinning, you open the machine and put the wet garments back into the basket they were brought in. Shizuo's still outside, but you figure you can at least snag some dryers while he's gone. You place your basket on top of one and open the doors to both it and the dryer next to it. You're not really sure what the deal is with the dryer sheets, so you just stand there, waiting for Shizuo to come back.

Unfortunately, someone else gets there before he does. He's short, with hair like an overly ripe banana and a public school uniform on. It's a little worse for wear and probably could've used a wash as well. "You usin' these?" He growls at you with way more authority than someone of his age and stature should be commanding.

"As a matter of fact, I am," you respond, not really interested in argument. As you anticipated though, he doesn't leave it alone.

"Well your clothes ain't in 'em, and some of us are actually trying to get our shit washed instead of standing around wastin' space," he spits.

You close your eyes and huff a laugh, your mouth pulling into a smirk. "Listen short stack, why don't you just run off back to mommy or go bother someone else? I'm not interested in your games."

He actually has the audacity to push you then, the back of your head bumping against the dryer. It would have hit harder had you not been expecting the physicality, but you still stumble back a step nonetheless. "Why don't you shut the fuck up, you skinny bitch, I-"

His sentence is cut off when a fist collides with his stomach and within seconds he's being shoved against an adjacent dryer. You're not really sure when exactly Shizuo came back inside, but his timing is to be commended. You hadn't seen this violent side of him before, watching on as he snarls at the kid.

"You want to start something you little fuck? Huh?" Shizuo's face is practically nose to nose with the kid, who suddenly looks more like he wants to shit himself. He shakes his head wildly.

"No I didn't - I mean I...I thought he was...I'm sorry," he frantically babbles, trying not to get his ass kicked. Shizuo stops his stream of words with the tightening of his grip and a knee just under the kid's ribs. He lets him go, the student's small form keeling forward as he starts to walk away, but he doesn't get far before Shizuo's foot makes contact with his backside, urging him painfully forward. He cries out and scampers away.

Shizuo has to take a moment to get his breathing back under control, and when he does he shakes his head and turns back to you. "There's no one especially dangerous here, but don't any of them give you crap," he says, his voice back to the tone you're used to hearing it in. You raise an eyebrow but don't comment on his little aggressive moment. He continues on, showing you the logistics of the dryer and what to do with the bounce sheets. "Same rules apply when these finish, don't let anyone dump them."

You can't resist. "Or what? You'll fuck them up?" you tease with a smirk.

He laughs nervously. "Sorry, I just get angry when people try and make things hard. There's just no point in being a dick here."

You nod, leaning against the dryer. You see now why a debt collector would want him for a security guard. A lot of people who owe debts might act like "dicks" to the person trying to collect them and make things harder, so in that scenario having someone like Shizuo to back you up would be a dream. The clothes are dry and smelling of "lavender breeze" in no time, and you take the few things that are yours out when you get back to Shizuo's.

The next week you go to the laundry mat by yourself, wanting to do something for the Heiwajimas in light of the fact that you're a total go off without a hitch, no fights or clothes dumping or machines overflowing with bubbles and detergent, although there is an incident with a red sock ending up folded up in a pair of Shizuo's white boxers. They and they alone come out pink, and you're not quite sure how to tell him. You figure you can twist the situation and make it seem like you did this on purpose, like it was a prank and you were just being an asshole. At least that might look better than pure incompetence. Who can't wash clothes right?

When you get home and he innocently asks you, "how'd it go?" you don't have the heart to lie to him. You don't actually say anything, you just hold up the boxers in their new pink glory.

He tilts his head, considering them a moment, but just smiles at you. "I like 'em better this way."

You let loose a sigh of relief that he isn't upset and put the clothes away. You start doing the laundry every week after that, though there are no incidents like that one again.

You find out that apparently Kasuka is an aspiring actor. Occasionally he gets a commercial or a spot as an extra and that brings in some extra cash for awhile, although Shizuo refuses to spend it all unnecessarily, instead putting the majority in a bank account in Kasuka's name. He does usually celebrate with a special meal and he always gets excited when he sees something Kasuka's in on television. They're both waiting for Kasuka to get his big break, but it hasn't happened yet in the four years he's been at it.

Kasuka didn't go to college of his own volition but you get the feeling Shizuo feels bad about it. The blond says Kasuka didn't want to go so he could focus on acting, but you all know the two of them wouldn't have been able to afford it regardless.

Shizuo is gone most of the time, with the exception of his day off. It's really not even a day off, he still works, but he doesn't go to his security job on Sundays and only works at the bar. You wonder when he even sleeps; you can't imagine he's doing more than 4-5 hours a night. He looks so tired sometimes, and you wish there was something you could do about it.

The three of you live on cheap take out since the fridge is practically a barren wasteland and that's where you see your opportunity. You wait until the end of the week and then convince Shizuo to buy groceries. You instruct him to get ingredients for the fridge, saying it'll be better for him in the end. He does get you what you ask for, and even helps unload it into the house. You're confident in your plan, desperate for something to do to contribute to the household.

You'd tried a few things before it came to this point, but the life Shizuo and Kasuka lead was hard for you to adjust to. Unlike you used to have, they have such limited options of what they could do outside of work. The both of them were relatively self sufficient as well so in short, there was nothing for you to do. Cleaning was never really your thing; dirty bathrooms and the thought of scrubbing them made you sick.

So you came roundabout to the one thing you knew you could do - cooking. It was one of the few things you learned how to do by yourself. When your mother was still in the picture, you used to watch her in the kitchen until one day when she started teaching you how to do what she was doing. You've always liked cooking, and you figure the Heiwajimas might appreciate not having to get take out all the time.

You set to work, pleased to find the pots and pans to be clean. Cooking puts you in a different mindset, and as you move about the kitchen it feels less like someone else's house and more like a home. You don't make anything too complicated, just a pasta for now, trying to time it so it'd be finished close to when Shizuo would be home in between jobs.

You have nowhere to set plates when you're done, so you just put them on the island and immediately get to cleaning the pots you used. By the time you finish, you hear the front door opening and Shizuo's there, and suddenly you're nervous in a way you don't often experience. Your stomach tenses as you wait for him to come over.

He makes his way past, sniffing the air as he walks until he finds the source of the smell. When he sees what you've made his face lights up. "You cooked?" You just nod and he grins. "Kasuka! Izaya made us dinner," he calls out. As soon as his brother makes his appearance, the three of you grab the bowls and move over to the couch to eat it.

Shizuo has nothing but good things to say about your food, and each time he drops you a compliment, Kasuka nods his agreement. You feel great knowing you've found a way to make yourself useful and do something you like. You take the liberty of cleaning up after, moving into the kitchen to throw things away. Shizuo follows you in.

"Thank you, Izaya. It was really great, I'm glad you did that," he says softly, putting a hand on your shoulder.

"It was no problem, I enjoy cooking."

"Where'd you learn?"

You hesitate. "...My uh, my mother taught me."

His hand on your shoulder gives a squeeze. "She did a good job." The hand falls away then as he leaves, going into his room. Now you feel really good, immensely pleased with yourself for thinking of this.

You cook regularly after that, making breakfast before Shizuo leaves, lunch for you and Kasuka and dinner just before the blond gets home. It makes you feel needed and better acclimated to your new life. Shizuo never fails to compliment you on the food and thank you before he has to go, and that in itself brings you a certain kind of satisfaction. You feel for the first time in a long while like you belong somewhere these days, and frankly you're not too disappointed in where you ended up.


End file.
